Lovestain
by mermaiddrunk
Summary: "The movies never prepare you for this." Quinn takes Rachel's virginity. What happens after?


**Lovestain**

_- mermaiddrunk_

"The movies never prepare you for this." Quinn takes Rachel's virginity. What happens after? Rated 'M' for implicit sex.

* * *

><p>"How do you feel?"<p>

"Sticky." Her voice sounds foreign. Like it belongs to someone else. Someone who isn't lying naked in Quinn Fabray's bed tangled in sheets and covered in sweat. "A little sore."

"I mean," she hears, rather than sees Quinn take a breath next to hear. "Do you feel any different?"

The last hour plays through her head like an old film reel. Some parts in startling clarity, other already starting to blur.

"A little," she finally murmurs. It's strange, she thinks. After rasping out single syllables like 'yes', 'more', 'Quinn' and 'please' for the better part of an hour, to be speaking in full sentences.

Quinn turns her head and she ends up with a face full of blonde hair. They're lying so close that it tickles her eyelashes and invades her mouth. When she brings her hand up to free her face, there's a sweet, tangy smell on her fingers that makes her wrinkle her nose. It takes her a moment to register what it is and then she's starting to get that warm feeling and she's not quite sure whether it's embarrassment or arousal or a combination of the two.

Something must be happening to her face, because Quinn's expression is changing from a sort of cautious detachment to that specific expression where her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are kind of bleary and she looks like she's drunk or high or on something equally addictive. She suddenly wishes she weren't so naked, or that at least their limbs were less entangled, because there's no way to disguise how that look on Quinn's face is affecting her.

"Can um," she clears her throat, hoping the croak in her voice is very temporary. She has vocal coaching tomorrow and doesn't want to explain to Ms Talbot why she sounds like she's just smoked a pack of cigars. "Can I get some water?"

She watches Quinn's fingers. Those long, slender fingers that have touched her in places she's never even touched herself, she watches as they tentatively reach up to trace an invisible line along her cheekbone. She shivers involuntarily and resists the urge to move closer.

Quinn's lips round into an "O" as she mouths, "Okay." They detangle their bodies and the warm comfort of the skin she's been using as a blanket is gone. Quinn is up, all limbs – long and pale. She doesn't know whether to avert her eyes or not. Considering that just minutes ago, her tongue was sweeping along those smooth lines and rounded curves, she feels ridiculous for her sudden bout of bashfulness. And yet to stare and soak in the image of a nude and glorious Quinn Fabray as if she were on display behind glass at the Louvre seems uncouth. Still, she cannot help watch as the blonde reaches for the nightgown to drape loosely over her body. She cannot help the flash of disappointment at the loss of the image. Quinn looks over her shoulder. Just once, as if to check if she's still there and for the first time, she wonders if this experience is mutually surreal.

Alone in the empty room, alone with just her thoughts and the thickening silence, she allows herself to breathe.

Rachel breathes.

In and out. In and out.

She watches as her chest rises and falls. Her uncovered breasts peaking towards the ceiling on each inhalation. She wonders if she should get dressed. What would that imply? How long is one allowed to be naked in someone else's bed before it's considered improper. After what she and Quinn just did, what would be the definition of improper? She considers just covering up with the sheets, but the numerous wet spots tainting them persuade her change her mind. The movies never prepare you for this, she thinks, lying back down on the driest part of the mattress.

A second later Quinn returns. Her hair is a mess. It's the first thing Rachel notices. She didn't pay much mind before, but now she does and Quinn's bed-ruffled hair catches her attention. As does the dark purple bruise blooming on her neck. _I did that_, she thinks. And something inside of her throbs. For a wildly irrational moment, she wonders if Quinn can hear her thoughts, whether she can tell how she's feeling. Forgetting her previous misgivings, Rachel pulls the lavender sheet up around her chest, fearing suddenly that her body will betray her and reveal all her secrets to the silent blonde.

Quinn closes her door with a quiet thud, then locks it before turning back to her.

"Sorry I took so long." She hands her the bottle of water. It's cold. Still. "I had to manoeuvre my way through the mess down there."

She's referring to the party of course. Or at least, the carnage left over from the party.

Rachel barely remembers it. It feels like days ago rather than hours ago. She wonders what time it is.

They sit in silence for a while. Rachel drinks. The water cools her insides and settles in her belly and suddenly she's sleepy. She could sleep for a good long while. Maybe she'd sleep for so long that vines would grow from her scalp and take over her whole body. And there'd be thorns. She thinks suddenly of the blood on Quinn's fingers. Bright and wet. Like tears. Her eyes dart to Quinn's fingernails. They're clean. She washed them. That's why she took long. Out damned spot! and all that. She briefly wonders if Shakespeare ever took anyone's virginity.

"The clean-up tomorrow is going to be terrible," Quinn is saying. Her voice is husky and low. Rachel thinks she could be selling second-hand furniture and it would sound sexy. "I hope my mom doesn't decide to come home early."

Rachel looks up at her. They're sitting opposite each other now, clothes knees barely touching. And really, Quinn's just trying to fill that empty space between them. Her words are meaningless. They both know that. "I should have known better than to let Puck bring his-"

"Did you know what would happen when you brought me up here?" Again, it's that voice she hardly recognises. But it's coming from her mouth. Her lips are moving, so she claims ownership of the question.

Quinn freezes in mid-sentence. Her eyes narrow ever so slightly and that little dent, a miniscule frown line appears between her brows. It's as if she's been accused of a crime.

Rachel licks her lips. They're dry. She runs her tongue over them and imagines they taste like Quinn. She waits patiently for an answer.

"I didn't -" Quinn looks down now. The knot in the belt of her robe becomes infinitely fascinating. "I guess I hoped," she says softly.

Rachel says nothing. Her tongue feels thick. Like she's been to the dentist and he's given her too much anaesthetic. As far as answers go, this is a good one, she thinks. This is promising. But what now? She doesn't know where to go from here. This is all new territory. Literally. Quinn's bedroom is a foreign place, where apparently anything can happen.

Now Quinn's looking at her with this expression that begs her to say something, anything and all Rachel can think of is the first, most basic question that comes to mind. "So…you like me?" it's tentatively asked. Partially because she's afraid of the answer, partially because part of her still expects Santana to come out of Quinn's closet (she intends no pun here) with a camcorder and a slushie. Trust is a funny thing, Rachel thinks, sitting naked opposite Quinn.

But Quinn nods in response to Rachel's question. Her index and middle finger poised over her lips (and yes, there is a faint crimson crescent under one of her nails), her eyes, fixed on Rachel. Those hazel irises look brown when her pupils are this dilated. She nods carefully, but surely as if to assure both herself and Rachel.

There's that throb again and Rachel wonders how positive affirmation is linked to sexual arousal. Apparently it is, because Quinn's staring at her with those dark, golden pools that make her feel like she's being sucked into some sort of vortex and suddenly her body goes taut and that throbbing beats in time with her heart.

"I-" she pauses unintentionally and looking back, she'll realize that this made for great dramatic effect. What Rachel wants to say is, "I've been waiting for you without even knowing it and now I can't go back to anything I thought I knew and please don't break my heart, because you're not just some dumb-witted boy who I can get over, I think you just might be that thing I need to make me feel like I'm not alone in the world and I know you've got problems, but I've seen your courage and I've seen your heart and walking up those stairs with you tonight was one of the scariest moments of my life. And I've given you everything now, you have it all, you took it before I could stop you. I don't know if I would have stopped you. So please don't make me regret this. Please make this night worth it."

But instead, she smiles and says in a voice that may be a whisper, "I like you too, Quinn."

By the way Quinn shyly ducks her head down to hide her smile, Rachel likes to think she understands.


End file.
